Knee
by Mrs. Terwilliger
Summary: What exactly happened on Johnny's vacation? Who did he meet? What did he see? A heartfelt tale of gore and insanity told from the poor souls who he came across on his magical journey. Crossover story of basically everything that isn't Nny.
1. Room 203

A/N: This story is basically a chronicle of everything that happens to Nny on his "vacation", from the perspective of the unfortunate people he meets during it. It's also going to be much different comedy-wise than anything I've done, to let ya know. Just a warning. There aren't going to be any donuts falling out of the sky for no reason or anything like that. It's a hell of a lot more serious. There are also going to be cameos from a bunch of things all the way through, but you don't have to know who they are to read the story. It makes it a bit more fun, though.

Disclaimer: I don't own Nny.

Chapter One: Room 203

James was the landlord at Knobsic Hotels, a kind of shabby, small place to stay. The people around the town were almost all upper-middle class, so it was almost never used by anyone. Some wondered why it was even there.

James was lonely man, and the fact that no one ever seemed to drop by his shitty little hotel didn't exactly boost his ego. So, by the rare occasion that anyone ever DID drop by, he would take advantage of this opportunity by dropping in constantly and making light conversation with its occupants… at two in the morning. Doing this usually just scared his only customers far, far away, but oh, it was worth it.

One man hadn't been scared away, though. He had checked in about three days ago and hadn't left. He was the only occupant the Knobsic had at the moment.

James found it hard to forget this person. It was 2:45 AM when he arrived there for the first time. It was pouring outside and James had decided that there was no better time than this to finish Swiss Family Robinson, one of the most boring books in the history of mankind. Then there was a knock at the door.

_Now who could that possibly be, at this time?_ He asked himself. In the 3.2 seconds that it had taken James to think that, the person at the door had decided to stop knocking politely and to start pounding on it with his foot as hard as he possibly could.

"I'm coming, I'm coming…" James muttered, getting up from his comfy chair and opening the door. He found an unusually tall and thin man standing there, looking thoughtfully back at him as if nothing had happened at all. James looked over at his door to find deep gashes in the wood.

When he glanced over to the young man, James saw that he too was surveying the door. But instead of looking horrified, he looked quite interested in the gashes. Then WHAM! He whacked the door again with his foot.

"Why did you_ do_ that?!" James asked him, shocked. The man grinned.

"It's a face."

James looked back at the door. The gashes really _were_ in the shape of a smiley face. He hadn't recognized it before because at the time it had only one eye.

He looked back at the young man to find he was looking directly at him, unblinkingly.

"Um… can I help you?" James asked him.

"I want a room," he replied coldly.

James started to get disturbed at his sudden change of attitude. He wished he could see him properly through the rain and dark. "You can have… Room 203. It's 25 bucks a night." Then James handed him the key. The man grabbed it from him, and James could just imagine him glaring at him through the darkness. He sighed. "You're going to have to pay for that, you know," James said, pointing at the door. But the man had already left.

The first day with him was really odd. James heard absolutely no signs of life from his room until 9 PM at night. He was trying to read the Swiss Family Robinson again when he heard a loud THUMP! Then dust and dirt fell from the ceiling.

"Wha…?" he asked himself, looking upwards.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"What in blazes is going on here?" he asked himself again. Every time he heard a THUMP, his ceiling would leak dust in a different place, and the ceiling's wood would bend a little. James got up and opened his door. And as soon as he did this, the young man who had checked in the night before lowered his head down from the top of the office complex and right in front of his face, grinning manically.

"Why are you jumping on my roof?!" James asked him angrily.

"The TV's broken," he replied, a serious look on his face.

"Then why didn't you just knock on the door?" James asked exasperatedly. The man just looked at him blankly. James began to wonder why the blood wasn't rushing to his face. He sighed. "What's your name, son?"

"Knee."

"Knee?" James asked him, confused. "Like the body part?"

"No."

There was a silence where Knee looked at him quite seriously and James wondered if he was going to say anything else. He didn't.

"Um… okay… Well, could you tell me what's wrong with the TV?"

Knee didn't reply. He just jumped down from the roof and started walking towards his hotel room. James sighed before following suit.

When Knee opened the door to his room, James was shocked to find that it was already completely trashed. Someone (likely Knee) had drawn stick figures on all the walls with a stick of charcoal. The bed sheets had been strewn across the room, and some of them had been used to make little forts. The contents of the bathroom had been thrown onto the ground, and the toothpaste smeared on the mirrors. It had been also smeared onto one of the walls in the form on the word POTATO. Then the toothpaste had been nailed to the wall. Now that James had seen that, he saw all the other odd things that been nailed to the wall, including a spatula and a sausage. Not to mention that there was a giant hole in the TV screen.

James bent in front on the television to inspect it further. "You threw a rock through the TV!" he said, pulling out a rock from the hole.

"That's a grenade," Knee corrected him.

"No it's n—AH!" James yelped, and chucked it out the window. It exploded before it hit the ground. James jut stood there, shocked.

"So can you fix it?" Knee asked. James turned around slowly, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

"Uh… sure, but you're going to have to pay for the TV," he replied uncertainly.

Knee took out a fifty dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to him, completely unfazed by the grenade incident.

_The next day…_

James came over to Room 203 to deliver the new TV. He practically had to drag it up the steps, it was so heavy. When he was finally in front of Knee's room, he knocked on the door. Knee answered almost immediately, ketchup sprayed all over his clothes. James eyes it warily, wondering if he sprayed any on his nice carpet.

"What?" Knee asked.

"I have the new TV," James responded, holding out the television, his arms shaking from the weight. Knee took it easily, holding it as if it weighed the same as a fluffy teddy bear. _Strong guy for such a stick…_ James thought.

"I can install it myself," Knee said, preparing to leave.

"Bu—" Knee slammed the door shut before James could finish. He sighed and made his way back down to the office.

_The next day…_

It was 11:30 PM. James was once again trying to read the Swiss Family Robinson without interruption when he heard a crash from the kitchen. James jumped up and grabbed his shotgun. He sneaked into the kitchen, expecting a robber.

"FREEZE!" James yelled, pointing his shotgun at the dark figure by the counter. The figure turned around to reveal the perpetrator—Knee. "Oh, it's you," James said, lowering his gun. "What are you doing in my kitchen?"

Knee staggered out of the shadows to reveal the shape he was in. James gasped. He was deathly pale, and the bags under his eyes seemed to be even darker. Knee was holding onto something for support with one hand and with the other he was clutching his stomach. There was also a glisten of something on his shirt… Blood! All down his front!

"Knee, are you okay?" James asked in shock.

"_Hurts…_" Knee hissed, then keeled and vomited all over the ground.

"AH!" James yelped and jumped back from the glistening substance. Glistening…? "Is that blood? Knee! You're vomiting blood! I'm calling an ambulance!"

"NO!" Knee screamed hoarsely, grabbing James in the back. _"No… hospals… need messin…."_

James looked down to see Knee kneeling in his own blood and looking up at James pitifully. James looked up to find his medicine cabinet open and its contents allover the floor. It didn't take much for James to put the two together. "You broke in to get my medicine, didn't you?"

Knee opened his mouth weakly to respond, but then grimaced and fell to the ground. "_Damn it,_" he hissed. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he said no more.

James went and called an ambulance anyway.

Wow. That was odd. And by the way, there were no cameos of anything in this chapter. It's also a kind of iffy story, so if you want me to continue then review and say so, otherwise I'm probably just gunna delete this.


	2. Hospal

A/N: I still don't like this story. But I'm continuing simply for the sake of you people. FEEL HONORED! Oh yah and I have a cameo of something in this chapter…

Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this chapter.

Chapter 2: At the Hospal

The hospital was a busy place. Doctors everywhere were rushing to whatever patient was dying and writing whatever medication needed to be written. Then—all of a sudden—there was an excruciating scream.

"_YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!_ HOSPITAL! DOCTORS! HOSPITAL! I'M IN A HOSPITAL! WITH DOCTORS! SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH…"

Doctor House, who just so happened to be walking by at the moment, was bugged by this noise. No, he considered it _extremely_ annoying. He barged into the patient's room.

"HEY! Shut up, no one wants to listen to you whine!" House yelled, leaning on his cane.

"DITTO!" The patient yelled, and hacked at spitball in House's direction. "STAY AWAY FROM MY BLOOD!"

"Ew," House said offhandedly, looking at the spitball that had landed just an inch away from his foot. He then took a minute to survey the patient. He was tall and unnaturally thin, so thin that the hospital sheets almost devoured him. He had gained some color from the night before. "Hey… you're that creepy Goth vomit dude from last night."

"HA!" the patient yelled, and chucked his IV stand at House. He ducked just in time, and the IV went right over his head and crashed into the wall behind him.

"A bit touchy, are we?" House muttered. The IV had made a noticeable impact on the wall.

"FUCK!!" the patient screamed, grimacing and clutching his arm. He had thrown the IV so hard that he had ripped off a lot of the skin on his arm. The blood was seeping through his fingers.

"You see, _this_ is why we don't _chuck_ stuff at the nice doctors," House said angrily, and hit a distress button.

Four more doctors rushed in a second later.

"What's the matter?" an African American named Foreman asked.

"He threw his IV at my head," House said bitterly.

"BACK OFF, YOU SOUL-SUCKING MAGGOTS! SELF-CONSERNED BASTARDS! I HAVE _NO SYMPATHY_ FOR A PROFESSION THAT TAKES _ADVANTAGE_ OF _WEAKNESS!_" The patient screamed crazily, staggering out of bed and grabbing a few need needles like knives. Three doctors tackled him and pinned him to the hospital bed.

"Something tells me he doesn't like doctors," House said calmly. The patient shoved a needle into someone's back and they went limp.

"A symptom of psychosis?" Foreman asked.

"Nah, I think he was just crazy to begin with," House replied. "Get some hand cuffs." Then he went over to the patient as he was struggling with some of the larger doctors and stabbed a paralyzer into his neck. The patient staggered, then crumpled to the ground.

_Three hours later…_

"Wha…?" the patient murmured sleepily, raising his head to get a better look at House, who was flipping through the pages of a book.

"Attack me again and I shoot you up with this bad boy," House said, showing him an unusually large needle. "Though I don't think I'll have to, considering the fact that we handcuffed your hands and feet to the bed. Now, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. All you have to do is answer a few questions so we can perform the surgery and not get sued. I can be here all night. See, I brought a book," he said, motioning to the book.

The patient opened his mouth angrily, but then stopped himself. _"Later…"_ he muttered to himself.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" House asked, cupping his ear mockingly.

"I'll answer your questions," the man hissed.

"That's what I thought. Name?"

"Knee."

House looked up. "_Knee?_ Who named you, Elbow?"

Knee looked exasperated and angry. "_No._ Why can't anyone understand that? Next question."

"Do you have any history of heart attacks or strokes?"

"No."

"Any allergies?"

"Only fuckin' cats."

"_Language_, Elbow."

"Knee."

"Whatever."

Knee glared in his direction. "What the hell's your problem…" he glanced at House's nametag. "…Doctor House? Why are you such an asshole to the people you're supposed to be helping?" he asked him shrewdly.

House rolled his eyes. "Aw come on, don't get all _philosophical_ on me _now._ We're almost done. Any mental illnesses?"

"Um… let me think…" Knee said thoughtfully. "OH YAH! I was watching PBS yesterday and there was a special on about mental illnesses. I decided to watch it and wrote down all the ones I thought I had." Knee then got out a little piece of paper that was hidden in his hair. House was left to wonder for a second why anyone would hide anything inside their hair. "I _haaaaaaaaaaaaave… _psychosis, bipolar disorder, severe schizophrenia, paranoia…"

_One hour later…_

"… eretophobia, Insomnia, and several emotional disorders including manic depression."

House just looked at him. "O…kay. And what did you when you found out you were totally nuts?"

"I threw a grenade through the TV."

House stared. "Forget I asked."

"Ass."

House got up to leave. "Well, that's all I wanted to know. I'm going to go get approval to hack into your stomach and get whatever's causing you outta there, if you know what I mean." Then House picked up his stuff and prepared to leave.

"WAIT!" Knee called. House turned around slowly, wondering what _else_ the fucker wanted. Knee took a deep breath and spoke to him slowly and seriously. "I'm going to give you one chance. Only one. And it isn't because I pity your useless shit-hole of a life. It's because I'm trying to quit, you lucky fucker. But if you insult anyone, _anyone_ one more time, and you'll have me to answer to _later_."

House snorted. "Oooh, I'm _so_ scared." He turned to leave. "Freak," he muttered.

As he closed the door and limped down the hallway, he heard Knee's shrill voice ringing throughout the halls. "I'LL SEE YOU LATER, HOUSE!"

House just rolled his eyes.

_During the surgery…_

"What the hell is that?" House asked, pointing to Knee.

It was during the surgery and House and his team were watching Knee's surgery simply due to the fact that there was nothing better to do.

"I don't know…" Cameron said, squinting. "It looks like—"

"Oh, you're just full of surprises, aren't you, sweetie pie?" House said bitterly. "Tell them to give it to me once they've removed it—I want to add it to my collection of weird things that were stuck in a person's stomach."

"Hey House," Foreman asked. "What do you got against this guy? What'd he ever do to _you?_"

"Yah, you've tested lots of mentally unstable people before, what makes him so special?"

"He threw an IV stand at my head," House whined.

The rest of the doctors just rolled their eyes.

_After the surgery…_

A man was rolling Knee out of the hospital in a wheelchair, and Knee was looking at his stitches with a sick kind of interest. House was running (a kind of quick hobble) after the pair.

"HEY! WAIT! Heh... Thanks." He nodded to the wheelchair guy. Then he turned his attention to Knee, who had folded his hands and was smiling in polite mockery up at him. "You. Now, I know you aren't exactly 'all right upstairs', but I'd just like to know what kind of sick impulse caused you to swallow a _screwdriver._" House held up the screwdriver in front of Knee's face and shook it.

Knee tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Oh yaaaaaaaah, now I remember!" He said suddenly, lifting a finger triumphantly.

House waited. And waited. And waited. And waited.

"Well, aren't you going to tell me?" he asked impatiently.

"Uhhhhhhh…" Knee replied, gently taking the screwdriver from House. "Do you know if this still works?" he asked.

"What? How would I—"

"LET'S TRY IT OUT THEN, JUST TO SEE!" he shrieked, and jammed it straight into House's eye, pulling the trigger.

House screamed, and blood poured out of his right eye. Knee pushed in harder, completely gouging it into oblivion. Then, just when House thought he could scream no more, Knee pulled the screwdriver out. It took pure willpower for House to open his right eye to see what he was going to do next. Knee was standing straight up with no visible problems, and was eyeing the screwdriver with a peculiar look on his face.

"You know, I always thought it was kind of funny how people never noticed it when I did these kinds of things," he said off-handedly.

The wheelchair man had run off and called the police. Most of the doctors were hiding behind desks and screaming and House could hear police sirens in the background.

"Yup, I'm never noticed. Never. Anyway, I decided to leave your right eye alone because I want you to see what I'm going to do to you _later_." Then he leaned in to House's ear a little more. "_See you later, big boy._" He whispered.

Then he jumped out a window.

_Later…_

House was lying in a hospital bed, busy being incredibly pissed. _Little fucker…_ he thought._ Damn little bastard._

It was at night. Two guards were watching over House's room to make sure Knee didn't attack him again. He hadn't been caught yet, apparently. This didn't bother House, though. He was a pretty confident guy. Unfortunately, he was also a jerk.

THUNK!

House looked up. He saw both of the guards fall to the ground. Then he saw two identical pools of blood form beneath them. House gulped. Sometimes it was hard to be confidant.

"Hello, House."

House gasped and looked up in horror as Knee rapped his mouth in a dirty cloth. "You are such a bastard," Knee said, "That Senior Diablo is probably going to have a field day when you get down there."

House tried to get up and run off, but Knee had already handcuffed him to the bed. "Remember these?" He asked, jingling the cuffs. Then Knee got up and walked over to a coat hanger and picked up House's coat. "Well House, I'm afraid it's going to be _me_ who is doing the surgery today." Then he took out a lethal looking scalpel and grinned.

House couldn't watch. He squeezed his only good eye shut right before the scalpel hit his skin. He felt the cold knife slither down his skin, and the blood poor down him. It was excruciating. Then he felt Knee's hands dive into his body and search around. In his pain, House could make out a few phrases, like "Oh, that's defiantly going to have to go." and "What is _that?!_"

"Why is your stomach so empty?" Knee asked. Tears were running down House's face, he was in so much pain. "I think we need to fill it with something. How _aboooooout_… this?" House couldn't see what Knee pulled out. And personally, he didn't want to.

"Oops, took the pin out."

The last thing House heard was Knee's quick footsteps fade away in the distance.

Then he blew up.

A/N: Oh, you _know_ that guy had it coming to him. I really don't like this chapter because it was so hard to do House, but it's kind of hard to have Nny in a hospital and not have House there, that's just mean. Especially because 98 percent of this story is just cameos.


	3. School

A/N: Oh, you knew it was coming. You can't have a JTHM cameo story without them. It's like, illegal. Well, here they are. Might as well get it over with.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 3: School

Dib was sitting in front of the TV, watching Mysterious Mysteries and eating popcorn when he heard a knock on the door. Grumbling and groaning, Dib got up and answered it. The man at the door was tall and thin, the darkness hiding his more complex features. Dib _could_ see that his hands were coated in blood, though, not to mention he was holding a bloody screwdriver in one hand and a sinister looking scalpel in the other.

"Uh…" Dib said nervously.

"I saw a sign outside that said 'Room for Rent'…?" the man said, politely enough.

"Oh," Dib replied, suddenly remembering. "My sister put that up. My room isn't really for rent. Sorry."

"That's okay."

Dib stood there with the door open, waiting for him to leave. He didn't. Dib coughed, and decided that it might be a good time to close the door on him. As he was slowly closing the door on this psycho, the man shot up a hand and stopped him.

"Can I stay here anyway?" he pleaded.

Dib eyed the man's bloody weapons carefully and decided that this was not the best person to say no to. Taking a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut, he stuttered, "I—I _guess_ it's okay…"

"GREAT!" he chirped and walked right in, leaving a trail of blood. _I'm gunna regret this later…_ Dib thought.

The man walked over to the couch and sat down, watching the television. "I love this show!" he said, putting the remote down. Dib responded by laughing nervously.

Just then, Gaz came in the room sipping a coke. Then she spotted the man. "Hey, your weird friend is getting blood all over the couch."

The man turned his head around easily and gave her a meaningful look. Then he lifted the screwdriver and twirled it around his fingers effortlessly. "Look, I've used this thinger here once already today and I'm not afraid to use it again. Go away."

"Whatever." Then Gaz left to go do whatever evil things she does in her room.

Dib turned to the man, who had resumed watching Mysterious Mysteries. Maybe he wasn't that bad after all. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Knee."

"Knee?" Dib asked, confused. "Like… this knee?" he asked, pointing to his knee.

Knee looked furious. "AARGH! NO, GOD DAMN IT!"

Dib was shocked at Knee's reaction. In fact, he was so shocked that he moved to the completely different side of the couch.

"Sooo…"Dib said about half an hour later. "You like Mysterious Mysteries?"

"Mhmm," Knee replied, without lifting his eyes from the TV.

"Are you a paranormal investigator?"

"Depends. What day is it?"

"Monday night."

"…then no."

Dib was confused. "What do you mean, what day? What day are you a paranormal investigator?"

"Tuesday. Now stop talking, I can't hear the show."

"GREAT! Tomorrow's Tuesday! You can come to school with me and see the—"

"Remember what I said about the screwdriver."

"Sorry."

After the show was over, Dib stretched and prepared to go sleep upstairs. "You can sleep here if you want," he added when Knee gave him a questioning look.

"I don't sleep." Knee turned back around again and started flipping channels.

"…okay," Dib said uneasily, and continued his venture back upstairs to his room.

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"Hey. HEY."

Dib murmured something and rolled over in his sleep, ignoring the noise.

Someone pushed him. "HEY. _HEY! WAKE UP!"_ Then the person whacked him over the head with something.

"OW!" Dib's head shot up and he glared at the perpetrator. "Did you just hit me over the head with a toilet plunger?" he asked him.

"Yes," Knee relied sternly. "Now get up. God, you people. Always sleeping all the time."

Dib grumbled at this and put his glasses on. Then he got out of bed and got dressed. "What day id it?" he yawned.

"Tuesday."

"Tues—Knee! This is the day that you're a paranormal investigator, isn't it? You have to come to school with me and see the alien!" 

Knee looked confused. "There's an alien at your school?"

"YES! He'sgreenhehasnonosehewearsawigbuthereallyhasantennasyouseedoyouseehe's analiennamedZimbutnoonebelievesmehe'seviltooeeeeeeevilwehavetostophim HYAH!" Dib finished by karate chopping the air.

"…" Knee said, a peculiar look on his face. "…sure."

"GREAT LET'S GO!" Dib screamed and jumped out the window. A second later Knee jumped out behind him and they both got on the bus.

As soon as Knee got on, the whole bus burst out in laughter. "Look at him!" Zita said. "He's tall! Let's make fun of him!"

"Okay!"

But then Knee shot them a look that shut the whole bus up.

Dib was nervous. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Knee picked up two kids by their hair and flung them halfway across the bus. "There's n empty seat here," he said, pointing to where the two kids had previously been.

_Okay, DEFIANTLY bad idea,_ Dib thought.

----------------------------------------------------------------

"Dib? Who is this doomed creature you've brought to class?" asked Ms. Bitters, who promptly slithered out of her desk and over to Knee to sniff his face. "He isn't young enough to be a student…"

Knee was clutching his face, horrified. "He isn't a student, Ms. Bitters," Dib corrected her; "he's a… special guest."

"Oh really?" she hissed, and stretched her neck all the way over to Knee so they were face to face. "Is he here to give a speech to the children about how they are all going to grow up to be sick lowlifes in society's gutter?"

Knee looked genuinely shocked. "What, they don't already know that?"

Ms. Bitters grinned. "I like this man. He can stay."

Knee grimaced. "Ew."

Dib motioned Knee to come sit by him. "You can sit on the floor, by the window,"

Nny nodded and plopped down beside him, then looked up and grinned. "Where's the alien?" he asked him. Dib looked over towards Zim's seat. It was empty.

"He's not here yet," Dib replied, "but he'll be here soon. Don't worry."

"I'm… not worried," Knee said, confused.

Just then, the door swung open and a little green man stepped in.

"Zim!" Dib whispered.

"YES! _ZIM_ IS _HERE!_ And not late," he added, straightening his wig.

"HEY! That guy just straightened his hair! You can't straighten hair!" Knee screamed, jumping up.

"Um, Mister…" a little girl said. "I just straightened my hair this m—"

"SHUT UP!" Knee yelled. "IT'S ALL A CONSPIRACY! NYAHAHA!" Then he fell to the ground and started having a seizure.

Everyone was watching him awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

"Uh... it's okay everyone, he's just… a little odd," Dib reassured the class.

There was a silence.

"You're crazy," someone said. Everyone laughed.

Knee was standing up again. He was twitching all over. Then he reached into his shoe and pulled out a giant machete. "You—you're all against me, aren't you?" he whispered.

"Whoa—wait—" Dib began, backing up.

"NO!" Knee screamed. "I HAVE NO POTATOS! I THOUGHT I ALREADY MADE THAT PRETTY CLEAR! DAMN YOU, FBI! _DAMN YOU!!_"

"Uh…" Dib said.

"YOU'RE NOT REALLY CHILDREN, ARE YOU?!"

"Knee! It's okay! We really—"

"_ARE YOU?!"_

"Yes, we are!"

"_LIIIIIIIES!_ I'LL PROVE IT!" Knee lifted the machete high above his head. "Robots don't bleed, do they?"

"What robots?" Dib asked.

But Knee had already proceeded to massacre half the class.

"YAHAHAHAHAHA!" he shrieked, chopping off heads and stabbing hearts.

"KNEE!" Ms. Bitters interrupted.

"_Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?"_ Knee asked, exasperated. He was completely covered in blood and gore.

"You're getting blood all over the desks and floor."

"…oops," Knee said, looking around, embarrassed. His eyes suddenly perked up like a realized something. He turned around and faced the now entirely deceased class. "Uh… sorry." He said, avoiding their eyes.

Then he turned to face Dib again. "Where's the alien again?"

----------------------------------

"You're kicking me out?"

"I'm sorry Knee," Dib apologized. "But I can't really… _handle_ you. You need to go somewhere else. With less children."

Knee narrowed his eyes. "_What are you saying…?_"

"I'm saying you need to go," Dib finished, and prepared to close the door, but Knee stopped it with his foot.

"I once read a fortune cookie about something like this. It said, 'swallow your problems one bite at a time.'" Knee said matter-of-factly.

"What did you do when you read that?" Dib asked him.

"I ate my screwdriver."

Dib just looked at him. "That's nice, Knee. Tell it to your shrink." Then he attempted to close the door again. Knee stopped him.

"But I don't have a shrink!"

Dib grimaced. "Then go get one!" he said, and (finally) closed the door.

Dib sighed. He stumbled upstairs to his bedroom and flopped down on his bed.

"MUHAHAHAHA!" said Zim. "I have you now!" he had been hiding under the bed. "Victory for ZIM!"

Dib rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long day.

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A/N: That was painful. But you have to have Invader Zim somewhere, otherwise it'd just be… wrong. Next chapter won't be so clichéd, but will also have someone that most of you probably don't know unless you have HBO, or rent seasons of it a Blockbuster. (I do ze Blockbuster, I ain't rich.)


	4. Shrink

A/N: As I said, you are probably not going to know who this person is, so brace yourself for some disappointment.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter 4: Shrink

Two men were sitting in opposite chairs in a big, roomy kind of room. One was kind of old and was listening intently to the other one, while the other man was dressed in a brown suit and looked extremely nervous.

"Natalie's threatening about the pay again, and I'm having trouble with the new case," the brown-suited man said, looking at the floor intently.

"Really?" the old man asked. The brown-suit man nodded.

"I'm not that used to doing serial killer cases because… well… I haven't done any serial killer cases. At least—none that have actually _been_ serial killer cases. The Six-Way Killer wasn't actually a serial killer."

"I'm sure you can do it, Adrian. You're a very good detective."

"Yes, but—this person doesn't leave any clues to their identity. And I can't understand how anyone could be killed that brutally without there being any finger prints, it just doesn't make any sense—and Natalie needs to stop complaining, her pay is more than Sherona's was— excuse me—" the man stood up and walked over to spot he had been staring at and picked up a dog hair. "You really need to get a better maid."

Just then, the doors of the room were swung open and a sopping wet, tall and thin man barged in. "Which one of you is the shrink?" he asked, looking at the pair of them with a peculiar face. "An eleven-year-old with a big head told me to see one because the Chinese fortune cookie wasn't good enough so I couldn't live with him anymore. And I don't think he liked the screwdriver either. I didn't even get to see the alien! The whole thing was a waste of my god damn time!" the man was fuming now, and dripping water all over the floor.

Adrian was looking at the water with a horrified look on his face, and was already planning out cleaning methods to get it out of the carpet. "Doctor Kroger," he hissed, anxiety marking his face.

Doctor Kroger understood immediately. "Sir, you can't just come barging in here, you need an appointment."

The man glared. "I wasn't barging."

"Yes you were. You're going to have to wait until this session is over before you can make an appointment."

The man looked hard at Doctor Kroger, deciding what to do. Finally, he turned swiftly on his heels and marched out the door.

Dr. Kroger slowly let out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding. Adrian Monk tapped his shoulder. "Do you have any mops?"

---------------------

After the session with Monk was over, Dr. Kroger stood up and walked over to the waiting room to see if the strange man was still there.

He was.

In fact, he had found a way to entertain himself as well. He was balancing every magazine in the magazine rack on his head while reading one of the Nickelodeon Magazines. In fact, the way he was reading and balancing, it was almost as if he didn't even know the magazines were there. On his head.

"No no no no no no no no! What are you _doin_g? Doctor Kroger _hates_ it when you mix up his magazines! Now I'm going to have to put them all back!" Monk said exasperatedly, picking up the magazine's off the man's head one by one and putting them back in the exact same position they were last, without almost any hesitation.

The man looked up dangerously at Monk. "Is Doctor Kroger your _mother?_" he hissed. "Quit complaining." Then he shook the Nick Magazine again and continued his reading.

Monk stopped and twitched a little. "No— no, um, he isn't my mother. You see, he's a man and _men_ can't be _mothers_ because—"

"Shut up."

"That's enough, you two!" Doctor Kroger said impatiently. "Adrian, go home. What's you're name?" he asked the man, who was still reading the magazine with other magazines stacked on his head.

"Knee," the man replied without looking up. He turned a page of his magazine uninterestedly.

Dr. Kroger stopped. "How do you spell that?" he asked.

Knee looked up, confused. (All the magazines slid off his head and onto the ground.) "It's spelt how it sounds."

Dr. Kroger shrugged and wrote down on a piece of paper the word _Knee._ "When do want to start?" he asked.

Knee tilted his head. "Um… now?"

Dr. Kroger sighed and looked at his watch. "I suppose I have some free time. Alright, follow me."

After the pair of them had gotten settled in the two chairs, Dr. Kroger took out the paper once again. "Now, what's the problem?" he asked, as kindly as he could.

"I'm very crazy," Knee replied, with a completely straight face.

Dr. Kroger paused. "How do you know?"

"PBS told me so. PBS doesn't lie."

"Uh huh… Well, there are many different kinds of crazy, Knee. What kind do you think you are?" Kroger asked.

Knee responded by taking out a little piece of paper out of his hair. "I _haaaaaaaaaaaaave… _psychosis, bipolar disorder, severe schizophrenia, paranoia…"

_One hour later…_

"… eretophobia, Insomnia, and several emotional disorders including manic depression."

Dr. Kroger looked at him, shocked. "Um… Bipolar disorder and manic depression are the same thing."

"NO IT'S NOT!" Knee shrieked, chucking the little piece of paper at Dr. Kroger's head. "But anyway," he continued, as if nothing had happened. "That's not the problem."

"But I thought you said—"

"OH,_ sure,_ it _contributes_ to the problem, but it's not the actual _problem_. I'm not cold yet."

"… do you want me to turn the AC on?" Dr. Kroger asked. He was getting more confused by the second.

"NO! The OTHER kind of cold! YAAAAAAAAAAAH!" he screamed, and ran out of the office waving his arms crazily.

Dr. Kroger sat there, not exactly sure about what had happened.

Then Knee came walking back in and sat back down in his chair. "So anyway, I can't be cold. And I can't kill myself because I think Satan would be really pissed at me if I did. And Squee would get molested. That's bad, you know," he added offhandedly.

Dr. Kroger sat there, mouth hanging open. There were only three words going through his head at the moment. And they were: _What the HELL?!_

"How long is each session?" Knee asked.

"Um… an hour."

"Well, its already been one hour, one minute and forty three seconds. Just to let you know."

They spent the next three minutes looking at each other blankly.

"Um, are you going to leave?" Dr. Kroger asked uncertainly.

"Leave where?"

"Home."

"…"

"Go home, Knee."

"I can't go home, though!" he said indignantly. "Not yet! I've just begun! I've only thus far seen the tip of the iceberg of my unfeeling innards!"

"Unfeeling innards…?"

"YES! EXACTLY! YAAAAAAAAAAH!" then he ran out again, screaming his head off.

"Oh, whatever," muttered Dr. Kroger, and prepared for the next patient.

---------------------

Monk was in his house. Cleaning. Again. It was raining pretty heavily outside, which he realized when he left Dr. Kroger's office. Just then, there was a knock at the door. Monk stopped dusting the ceiling and turned. Who would be knocking at this hour? He went over to open the door uncertainly.

"…yes?"

He was greeted by a roaring clap of thunder and lightning. The thin figure on the doorstep put his foot in the door and clawed at the doorway. "_I LIVE HERE NOOOOOOOOW…"_ he hissed demonically. Monk screamed and slammed the door as hard as he could, running far, far away.

"FUCK!" he heard the someone from Dr. Kroger's office (Monk has awesome memory, for those of you who don't know him) scream from his closet. Almost instantly, the door was thrust open and the man was hissing angrily, his hands and feet throbbing. He was holding a chair from the kitchen high above his head, about to strike. Then it all went black.

----------------------------

Monk groaned, rubbing his head. This_ really_ wasn't his day. He found himself stapled a wall, with the words KICK ME painted in red on his shirt._ No… wait… that wasn't paint…_

"I see you're up," someone said cheerfully, walking into the kitchen (Monk realized he was stapled to the kitchen wall, so he must be in the kitchen. He's such a smart little thing.) "You fainted before I could smash your head in."

The thin man from Dr. Kroger's office was leaning against a wall, cheerfully smiling at him. He was eating oatmeal.

"Wh—what do you want??" Monk asked tentatively.

"Actually, I hoping to pour the bowl of oatmeal on your head for hurting my fingers, but I think I'll just let you off on a warning if you let me stay here."

Monk fidgeted. "Here's the thing— I don't do _well_ with people staying at my house."

The man's expression darkened. "Why?"

"I have this thing; it's a gift… and a curse."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKIN' CURSES!!" the man kicked Monk in the stomach—hard.

"Eep!" Monk squeaked. This guy was REALLY strong. Then he poured the oatmeal on Monk's head anyway and left, slamming the front door.

--------------------------

"Okay, Knee, tell me something good that happened today."

"Nothing good happened. Nothing good ever happens."

"Of course good stuff happens! Think back to sometime in your life that something good happened, and tell me about it."

"…"

"Yes?"

"……………………………………"

"How about this, Knee. You go out tonight and have some fun. And while you're having fun, take a picture of yourself you can remember yourself having this fun, and show them to me, okay?"

"…you aren't going to like the pictures."

"Of course I will, Knee!"

"Really? Okay! I'll see you tomorrow." Then he skipped outta there, looking cheerful as can be.

-------------

Monk was dying of hunger. He had been all alone in his house all day long, stapled to the wall. Just when he thought he was going to faint, Natalie Teeger, his assistant, came inside.

"Oh my God, Mr. Monk, all you alright?!" she gasped, running to his aide.

"Muuuh…"

Natalie began to pull out the staples with great difficulty. There were some that were really tall, and she had to reach all the way over Monk to get them. Just then, someone opened the front door.

He was grinning manically and holding a knife in one hand and a camera in the other. Then he saw Natalie was all on top of Monk. "EW!!" he screamed, and shut the door again.

"_Natalie…"_ Monk wheezed. "_Natalie… he's the guy."_

"The serial killer guy? How do you know?"

Monk gave her this look that said "I am amazing don't question my amazingness".

"We need to call the captain, quick, before he hurts anyone else!" Natalie said, and rushed to the phone.

----------------------

Knee walked into Dr. Kroger's office, splashed all over with something red. He was smiling from ear to ear. "I have the pictures," he said.

He handed them to Dr. Kroger, still grinning. "There's me burning that one prostitute... There's me holding that one jock's head... and OH! OH! That was a FUNNY one!" he laughed, pointing to a picture a guy's mutilated ass. Dr. Kroger turned slightly green and looked up at Knee in absolute horror.

"I was gunna do that one Monk guy, too," he continued happilly, "but he was--"

Just then, The entire San Francisco police department barged through the doors, all pointing guns at Knee.

"PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!!"

Knee turned around, furious. Dr. Kroger was whimpering on the floor. "What, you think I'm _actually_ going to give into you brain parasites? My mission for coldness has only—"

Someone pulled the trigger and shot a hole through his head, and another through his chest.

Knee fell over, his face permanently frozen in a look of pure pissy-ness.

Dead.

----

Betcha didn't see that one coming, eh?

And yes, he really is dead.

Okay, this chapter could have been better, but I'm really tired and I really wanted to get it over with. And Monk was also really starting to bug me. And to everyone shocked out of their minds that I actually killed off Knee and are already spamming me with hate mail and flames, just to let you know, this isn't the end. I had to do this in order for the next couple of chapters to work.

So just think of it as one overly-shocking cliffhanger.

…review or die.


	5. Castle, Part One

A/N: Yay. Read and be delighted... or horrified. Doesn't matter to me either way, as long as you review.

And to my dad, who keeps hacking into my stories and reading them disapprovingly, fuck you to hell. I like Nny and there's nothing you can do about it. YOU HAVE ZERO RIGHT TO BE A NOSY BASTARD.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

-----------

WAAAAAAAAAAIT!!!

I just finished reading To Kill a Mockingbird for my summer assignment thing, and let me tell you, that book did nothing but piss me off. It was one of the most boring books I had ever read. The only reason I did not commit suicide was because I wanted to see Boo Radley come out. I mean, dude, this kid went psycho and stabbed his dad and stuff then went and hid in his house for years. I read that whole fucking book waiting for that stupid guy to just come out of his god damn house, AND YOU KNOW WHAT?! He didn't come out until about 6 pages from the end! Then he just stood there for like two pages and then WENT BACK IN HIS FUCKIN HOUSE!! WHAT THE HELL?!?! That just pissed me off into infinity. The book would have been alot better if he had come out sooner. I mean, he was a cool character, kinda like the Edward Sissorhands who never came out of his house. BUT THERE'S THE PROBLEM-- he was in his fucking house the whole fucking time. So you know what? I'm doing something any respectable Nny fan would do-- change the book to have Nny in it. Voila!

-------------------

Three stupid kids were standing outside a creepy looking house.

"I wish Boo Radly would come out," one of them said.

"Yup," another replied. Then they all stood there drooling for forever while nothing happened. Readers started to question the point of the book and why it wasn't banned from society for being so boring. Then Nny came out of nowhere and livened things up a little.

"WTF IS WITH THIS STUPID GUY NOT COMING OUT OF HIS HOUSE?!" he screamed. "I MEAN, GOD, THIS IS SO BORING!! IT ISN'T THAT HARD JUST TO GET OUT OF YOUR FUCKIN HOUSE!!" then he ran inside the house, dragged out Boo, beat the crap out of him, then set the whole stupid town on fire. The End.

_And now for the ACTUAL story, which you all want to read. Yeeeeeeees. Rise, my hypnotic slave monkey minions, and suck all the happiness out of... um... plantfood. Oooooh, I'm scary._

--------------------

_Johnny… come to the light…_

No.

_Come on, Johnny…_

I don't wanna.

_Come to the light…_

The light sucks. I'm not going to the light.

_The light is filled with happiness and joy and-_

Okay, now you've OFFICIALLY pissed me off. I'm not going to the light. I think I made that _pretty_ clear, thank you. In fact, now I'm going AWAY from the light! HA!

_No! Johnny! Come back!_

Go fuck yourself, why don't you?!

_Jooohnnnnnyyyyyyyyy_...

------------------------------------------

Bob really hated his job. All he ever got to talk to were complete psychos, murdered people, people who did nothing but argue about whether they were dead or not, and losers who thought they could actually do magic. He was thinking about this when someone walked in. Bob gave him a quick survey. He was tall and thin, a bloody hole perpetrating out of the side of his head and chest.

"Hello and welcome to Purgatory, your alternative after life specialist. Please fill out the sheet on the desk before we consult your situation," he said dully.

"Um… okay," the man said, and picked up a sheet uncertainly.

The sheet had a section for your name, cause of death, and four boxes that said _Check those that apply_ above them. The man checked the Complete Psycho and Murdered boxes. _Thought so…_ Bob thought.

"Here," the man said, handing the sheet of paper to Bob. Bob took it unenthusiastically. "So…" he checked the sheet. "Nny. Let's discuss your situation. Since you obviously don't want eternal happiness," Nny mumbled something bitterly. "you would mostly be most suited to ghost-hood. Let's check out the local listings."

"What listings?" Nny asked, curious.

"Houses that are up for haunting. Here's a chart." Bob handed Nny a sheet of paper. It was a map of the world, only with glowing dots here and there. Nny snatched it, grinning wickedly. Apparently, the idea of being a ghost seemed really appealing to him.

(A/N: QUIT READING MY STUFF DAD.)

"Ooooh, England," Nny chirped, pointing to a spot in England. "I've always wanted to go to England."

"Yes, Hogwarts," Bob said dully. "kind of like a refuge for ghosts, actually. The place's packed."

Nny grimaced. "Hogwarts? What kind of a lunatic would name their house _Hogwarts?_ It completely destroys any hope of resale value."

"Not for ghosts. I'll inform the headmaster you're coming--" Bob picked up a phone that had popped up out of nowhere and started dialing a number, "-- while you go through that door over there."

Nny gazed to his left to find a door that had not been there previously. He shrugged it off- weirder things have happened. Then he left.

---------------------

Dumbledore was sleeping peacefully in his big chair thing. Then the phone rang.

"Mmmf..." he said. He managed to pick up the phone sleepily and raise it to his ear. "...hello?"

"Albus Dumbledore?" the vioce asked.

"Present."

"It's Bob. You've got another one... Johnny C, I think. American. 'Muggle', as you would call them."

Dumbledore frowned. "Why did he come here?"

"Apparently, he always wanted to go to England."

Dumbledore paused, then sighed. "Perhaps it will teach the students diligence for the muggle kind. He can stay."

"Kay. Bye." the man hung up. Dumbledore sighed once again. It was very late.

"Uhhhh... is this Hogwarts?" someone asked, looking around.

Dumbledore looked up to find a tall thin man staring at him. His head and shirt were soaked with blood. Dumbledore smiled. "Are you Johnny?"

"That depends on whether this is Hogwarts or not."

"Then yes, this is Hogwarts. Hello, my name is Professor Dumbledore," Dumbledore said, extending a hand. Johnny didn't take it.

"...Professor? I'm haunting a school?" he grimaced.

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm afraid so. Before I allow you to scare my students, I have a favor to ask of you..."

Johnny frowned.

"...do you know anything about defense?"

The man looked at him for a minute before narrowing his eyes. "Depends. What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm afraid the school's Defense against the Dark Arts teacher has fallen ill from dragon pox, and we need a temporary subsitute."

"For how long?"

"Only a couple of days."

Johnny scratched his chin. "Hmmm... after that, can I go back to haunting?"

"Of course."

Johnny smiled. "Then yes, I know defense. And call me Knee."

Dumbledore grinned. "There is one catch, though... this school teaches a certain... _type_ of schooling. The students here can do magic. Since you're a muggle (non magical person) this might be difficult, but since it is only going to be for a few days, you are allowed to teach them combat defense. It might come in handy."

But Knee had already stood up to leave. "No problem. I've had to deal with stranger things in life, strange enough that you might say I can magic myself. You might also say I'm insane. I'm not sure. Wait, yes, I'm insane. What was I talking about?" he scratched his head.

"It doesn't matter. Report to the Great Hall at seven tomorrow to address the students."

Knee nodded and left.

-------------------------

Harry, Ron and Hermione woke up and went into the Great Hall, talking about Professor Whatshisface.

"Ooooh, I'm so worried about Professor Whatshisface, I hope he's alright," Hermione said, picking at her food.

"I wonder who's gunna replace him on such short notice," Ron said.

"I don't care, as long as Snape doesn't teach," Harry muttered.

Ron glanced at the teachers and his eyes widened." Who's that? He's sitting in the DADA spot."

"I think that's the substitute."

The man was tall and thin, and only seemed to be in his early twenties. He seemed to be having some trouble with his fork. He couldn't seem to pick up his fork. Then he stopped and closed his eyes in concentration, and tried again. To his relief, he found the fork sitting innocently in his palm as if it had been there the whole time. He smiled and picked a fork-full of food and placed it in his mouth. Just as he did that, a look of pure horror froze on his face. He slowly looked down at his chair, and in his embarrassment, he cleaned the food off the chair. Then he decided just to look at all the students instead.

"Huh," Ron said, looking at him in confusion.

"He looks kind of creepy," Harry said.

"And he isn't wearing a wizard's cloak, either," Hermione commented uneasily.

The man noticed they were watching him and waved.

"He seems okay," Ron said.

The Dumbledore stood up, and the Great Hall became silent.

"Welcome new and old stuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...I am sorry to say that our beloved DADA teacher, Professor Whatshisface, has fallen ill from dragon pox and will be absent for a few days. Fortunately, I have found a substitute in time... I present to you, Professor See!" There was applause, and See looked uncomfortable, like he wasn't used to people applauding for him. "Would you mind saying a few words?" See looked even more uncomfortable, like he wasn't used to public speaking, either. But he got up anyway.

Stepping up to the podium, See cleared his throat. "Um..." he said, tapping his fingers uncertainly. "Don't call me Professor. I didn't come here to teach, I came to scare the living shit out of all of you. So don't call me Professor. Call me Knee." Thre was a lot of confused mutterings at this. Knee paused. "I'm dead, too," he added after an afterthought. "You probably can't tell because I've been looking around here, and all the other ghosts are transparent and all silvery-like, and I look like I'm solid. I also can do lots of cool things to stuff to stuff if I concentrate hard enough like in all the horror movies I've seen, and they can't. I'm not exactly sure why that is. So don't ask me. Maybe its because I came here to haunt you, and not just represent stuff like everyone else. ...yah." Knee scratched his head. "Anyway, I'm gunna teach you for about two days, then I'm gong to go around making walls bleed and stuff. Oh yah, and I'm teaching defense or something, right? Well, the Dumbly guy said I'm gunna teach you combat, so don't bring any magic hats or wands while I teach, unless you have some kind of physical attachment to them and you'll explode if you leave them somewhere. ...explode... hehehe..." For the rest of the speach, Knee just stood there at the podium and giggled. Then he left.

Ron frowned. "This should be interesting."

-----------------

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked into the DADA classroom and sat down. They were having class with the Slytherins.

Knee was doing a handstand.

They sat in their seats for about three minutes as Knee did his handstand. Then Malfoy coughed. "Isn't there supposed to be _teaching_ going on here?"

Knee got of his hands in a second and pointed threatening at the class of students. "WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE AND WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT?!" 

"Eep!" Neville squeaked.

"Hm." Knee scratched his head. "Oh _yyyyyeah _now I remember. I'm a teacher or something now? Heh. This is funny. I am laughing. Everyone, take out your knives."

Malfoy looked horrified. "We didn't bring knives!"

Knee looked furious. "Why not?!"

Hermione raised her hand.

"You, nerdy one."

Malfoy snorted. Knee shot a glance of death at him. "WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING?!"

Malfoy's smirk slid off his face like water. Knee screwed up his face in concentration and flipped Malfoy's desk over, crushing him. People gasped and screamed. Knee laughed and then got out a knife. People screamed louder.

"SHUT UP!" Everyone shut up, terrified. Knee then motioned to the knife. "This is a knife. You cut people with it. Knives are useful."

Malfoy raised his hand from under his desk. Knee rolled his eyes and turned the desk over with his mad ghost skillz. "Um... why would use knives when we have _wands?_"

Knee looked around the class. "Raise your hand if you brought your magical wand."

Hermione raised her hand.

"You," Knee said. "leave this classroom."

Hermione looked distressed. "Bu--but, you said you could bring your wand if--"

"Whatever, I forgot why I asked you to leave anyway. Hm. I need some kind of model."

Hermione helpfully waved her wand, and made a large stone statue of a human appear.

"Oh, good. One randomly appeared for no reason. Okay, I want you all to watch carefully to what I'm about to do." Knee took out a large, rusty knife. Then he concentrated, and it became solid. "Nerdy girl. Is this magical in anyway?" Hermione waved her wand.

"No," she said.

"Good." Knee then started waving his sword and hacking at the statue so violently and quickly that they couldn't even see his arm, or the sword. Then he stopped. The statue fell into a fine dust. Then it caught fire.

"It's not as hard as it looks," Knee said to the class of shocked and amazed students. "After a while of choppin' stuff, you get really good at it. You can even make unique patterns in people." Then he waved his hand and his magical ghost powers made a knife appear on every student's desk. "Three were there beforehand, just invisible," Knee smiled, admiring his newfound talent. "Now pick one up and start stabbing everyone around you. The survivor gets a candybar."

Just then Professor Whatsihsface walked in.

"WHAT the BLOODY' HELL?!

"Oh, you silly English with your silly cusswords."

-------------------------------

I know I'm cliché', I don't care. The reason people do this is because it's a good idea. The next chapter is just Nny haunting everyone and kicking ass anyway, so I can have my random cliche' fun in this chapter all I want. (sticks out tongue) You know you wanna see Nny scare the crap outta people anyway. So don't complain. Anyone complaining about how cliché' that was gets sat on.


End file.
